


No (I Don't Know How to Forget You)

by ContinuoslyLivingAfraid



Series: Oh No (I Think I'm Catching Feelings Now) [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love, but this is techno so whatd u expect, gratuitous use of the icarus myth, references to Greek mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27736591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContinuoslyLivingAfraid/pseuds/ContinuoslyLivingAfraid
Summary: He was drawn to that man: a modern Icarus. He wanted to see him fall.But that man brought comfort that tempted him to stay, and when the man was warm as a summer's day, how could he refuse?------------The first work in a series featuring no happy endings.Enjoy.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Clay | Dream/Dave | Technoblade
Series: Oh No (I Think I'm Catching Feelings Now) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028886
Comments: 25
Kudos: 199





	No (I Don't Know How to Forget You)

Where did he come from?

Technoblade didn’t know.

All Techno knew was that he came. He came like whirlwinds and storms and lightning strikes. Like a tsunami without warning; some sort of ungodly amalgam of Pompeii and the eruption of Krakatoa.

Then he stayed.

Techno thought he would have been gone by now. Swept by the pressure gradient, his only remains were small puddles — stepped on so carelessly by crowds.

But he stayed.

He was a constant gust of wind from the east, where the sun rose: a symbol of a new beginning — of a new era.

Of course, his sudden arrival did not go unnoticed. Not when its strength stood unmatched. Not when the disruption caused seismic shifts. Not when the impact caused so many to crumble to their knees and start praising this new, inhumane force.

“Maybe a god,” they whispered.

They whispered the same about anyone who changed the winds enough, Techno thought. But his lingering made them more confident.

“A god,” they said.

They said the same about anyone who changed the winds enough, skeptics said. But with more time, more evidence proved that the words rang true.

“The god,” they shouted.

But Techno knew better. There was no god. Not in this plane.

Not that it stopped people from believing in such. And Techno knew that. He had seen it all before. Men turned gods not by divine power, but by words uttered by crowds that held confidence and certainty. Techno had seen those men rise; bringing their pride with them. Techno had seen them fall: small mistakes held under a microscope, large mistakes borne from overconfidence, and finally, the pitiful but unstoppable decay.

So Techno was indifferent. This wouldn’t be the first time someone with too much ego would crash, smitten by the great sword of karmic retribution. This wouldn’t be the first time the true gods above struck someone down to keep mankind in check. This wouldn’t be the first time an Icarus survived the sun only to be shot down by lightning. Nevertheless, it was a treat to see someone fall, was it not?

And Technoblade was certain, so very certain that Dream would fall.

For surely, the crowd’s words did not go unheard. Surely, they sparked a self-destructive fire, seconds and inches away from scorching this new ‘god’ from the inside. Or perhaps, that blaze would burn everything around him.

This new ‘god’ will be the next Icarus or Niobe — the next to fall from hubris.

And yes, Techno had to agree with the words gossiped by the crowd: the masked man ignited something within any and all who watched him. To Techno, he had ignited an urge to indulge. To indulge in a little schadenfreude.

But perhaps, Techno was the prideful one.

He thought himself as a faraway watcher, a third-party observer with no involvement. He thought himself as someone above Dream, someone who couldn’t possibly collapse into nothingness. And for what reason? His experience? His knowledge? Oh, Technoblade, prideful little pig, those things meant nothing — no, they meant less than nothing — to the weaving hands of fate.

Certainly, Techno was the foolish one.

He should’ve known better than to tempt fate. He should’ve known better than to approach Dream, challenge ready on his tongue. He should’ve known better than to accept the crowd’s itch for a battle, to sink into his bloodlust’s wants, to taste-test the possible interactions he could have with Dream. What ever had made the Blood God’s vessel so foolish? What had possessed the cold-blooded, lone killer to do this? Was it the loneliness? Was he desperate for someone to keep him company? Did he think that Dream, who survived longer than most would expect, could stay? That he would stay?

Any answer to those questions would not matter.

In the end, Techno was the one who fell.

He fell the moment Dream gasped in glee at his challenge. He fell the moment Dream jumped, pumping his fist in the air. He fell the moment Dream said — no, shouted — ‘yes’ multiple and multitudes of times.

It was evident, then, that Techno was wrong. He wasn’t watching a moth flutter closer to a heath trap. He wasn’t watching Icarus fall. Dream was neither of those.

Dream, with his sun-kissed skin, dirty blonde hair and homely clothes, was not Icarus. Dream, who poured his soul into everything he did, was not Icarus. Dream — who laughed like he meant it, whose voice was the personification of dew-coated grass, whose heart was as warm as a spring’s day — was not Icarus.

He was the sun.

It was obvious in the way his blade glinted and glared, reflecting the searing hot passion its owner held. It was clear in the way he swung all his weapons with confidence, mere inches from Techno’s face. His connection to Apollo tolled louder in his laughter, his footsteps and even his heavy breathing — all in tempo to the clashing of their swords.

Yes, Dream was definitely favoured by Apollo or maybe even Helios; when Techno finally cornered Dream to the ground, securing his win, the sky greyed. Moreover, the dazzling smile Dream shot at him as he helped the other up could fool anyone that it was still a bright, sun-filled noon.

But did that mean Techno was Icarus?

“No,” he gasped out, soft and shocked.

“Did you say something?” Dream’s voice, tired yet still chipper, echoed through the stadium.

Techno looked at him, mouth slightly parted and breathing fast — though he wouldn’t know if it was from the fight or from his realisation.

He focused on the blonde. On his cracked and broken mask, revealing the still friendly expression he held. On his green eyes, reminiscent of swaying trees underneath March sun. On his smile, warm as sun rays after a long winter, breaking from the clouds. On his messy, dust-speckled hair. On the halo of light enveloping his silhouette from the setting sun.

Heaven-sent.

Techno closed his mouth and straightened his spine.

“No.” He turned back to tending his wounds. “Not at all.”

Dream’s mindless humming — like birdsongs or angels or Euterpe — filled the air with gentle closure. But it filled Techno with overflowing fear.

A small, hopeful and desperate part of Techno thought that perhaps, if he waited, it would all go away. Why wouldn’t it? He wasn’t a fallen man — not in his own eyes.

However, Techno’s lack of effort to refuse any of Dream’s invitations did not help. His full acceptance of Dream’s presence in his life had made it even worse.

It was apparent; this was punishment for the countless massacres. Or perhaps his pride.

Amidst his carnage, Techno must've slain Adonis, lover of Aphrodite. A messy slaughter, the blood had stained his face. Why else would it have gone so red? Please, pay no mind to how red only bloomed when Dream was around.

Yes, Techno had slain Adonis. He was the hog, the jealous Ares. And Aphrodite had cursed him in spite, in anger. Please, pay no mind to how she would curse him in terms of love life.

And please, Techno begged you, pay no mind to how the story ends with Aphrodite stumbling onto her lover’s feet, crying tears that caused roses to bloom in her beloved’s blood, eternising the red rose as a symbol of love.

That had nothing to do with Techno right now.

Technoblade was not in love. He did not have roses beneath his skin, pushing and pressing against the dermis, causing splotches of warm red to blossom whenever Dream shot a glance at his direction. He did not feel thorns of longing twine around his rib cage, between the fibres of his being. He did not have blooms creeping into his eyes, staining his vision till there was no difference if he were to wear rose-coloured glasses.

No. Those problems belonged to another man — a fox tripping over his own feet.

Technoblade did not yearn for Dream. That was not the case. Technoblade was not a moth drawn to Dream’s flame.

He did not think of made-up scenarios where they stayed together, doing nothing in particular. He did not go about his day thinking how to make Dream laugh again and again. He could think of things other than Dream’s kindness, genuineness and utter joy. The inferno of life in his eyes. The gentle comfort he brought when the world needed it. His sun-lit laughter. His spring-kissed fingertips that would make Persephone quiver in envy. His skills — unparalleled and above so many others. His agility, be it in mind or in body. His-

No. Techno didn’t think of any of that. Nor did he think of the way his name sounded, slipping from Dream’s lips.

He did not think of how those lips made his name taste like apples and honey, when it would normally taste of sour milk and rotten flesh. He did not think how each syllable was said with so much light and happiness that it made his day a little brighter. That it made his baggage a little less heavy. That it made his life a little more easier to bear. He did not think of how the consonants were said with certainty and the vowels with care. He did not think of how he wished Dream’s name tumbling from his own lips could sound just as sweet — just as loved.

Furthermore, Techno did not think of whether or not those lips would wash away the taste of ash, iron and regret off his tongue if they lingered atop of each other long enough.

“I’m not the Icarus of this story.”

How many times had that phrase been uttered? A seemingly infinite number, yet it was not enough to not be a lie.

“I refuse to be…”

Denial was a dirty thing. It was a mess so many people scrambled to hold on to. How else could people live when their whole world was swept from their feet? How else could Techno live when his heart was seized by someone who wasn’t even aware of it?

No matter how hard he tried, Technoblade couldn’t shake off Dream. He saw Dream wherever he looked: in the flickers of a campfire, in the high-pitched clang of two swords, in the drizzling rain bouncing off of puddles pooling on pavement.

He had trouble doing anything without shots of Dream invading. He couldn’t fight without comparing his opponents to the green-wearing menace. He couldn’t talk to other people without wondering how Dream would respond. He couldn’t even polish the sword on his lap.

A breathy, tired laugh stumbled out of him.

“I even see you now.”

Techno stared at the night sky above. A thousand stars glinted in the darkness, reminiscent of Dreams' eyes. And his laughter. And his-

“No,” Techno shook his head, “don’t. You can’t do this.”

But looking away did nothing. Visions of wishful thinking flashed in front of him, inescapable. Him and Dream beneath a star-filled sky. A distant picnic underneath the moonlight. Far away from the city, the forest and even the world.

Dream’s blond would look platinum in that sort of light. They’d converse about this and that. Maybe about tactics and strategy or about how dumb Tommy was. They’d be leaning against each other; close enough that their scents would meld and mix and become inseparable. Mint and pine with iron and lavender. Dream would be the one who talked more; his hands waving in the air to emphasise his point. But sometimes, occasionally, he’d drop one of his hands into Techno’s waiting one. Their fingers would intertwine, and Techno would squeeze them tight — a silent promise.

When the winds rustled and strand of his hair strayed, Techno would reach out to Dream’s face, fix it. Then, he’d cup Dream’s cheek. Lingering there till it turned red and flushed. Maybe Dream would smile, fond and filled with love, and crane his neck closer to Techno’s hand.

Slowly, Techno would let go of Dream’s cheek. They’d spend a few seconds just staring at each other. Green eyes on brown. Brown eyes on green.

They’d share no kiss at the end of the night, but unspoken words would be traded between them. Before they part, Techno would squeeze their hands one more time; maybe even press a kiss, gentle as snowfall, onto each of Dream’s knuckles and joints — just to get him to stay a little longer. And Dream would know the exact meaning of his actions. He’d reciprocate, leaning for a hug to share their warmth for just a little longer.

“God,” Techno breathed out, appalled by his own reverie. “What have I become?”

He slumped onto the wall behind him.

“A mess. A pining, longing mess.”

Techno cradled his head in his hands.

“What have you done to me, Dream? Is this a trick, a ploy? Is this a potion? A spell?”

He stood up, sword clattering on the floor.

His steps were quiet, but the ambience was quieter. His mumblings were only a decibel loud, but the emotions they carried thundered till they could be heard from miles away. His hands were still, but they kept twitching and jerking and wanting to move, to be done with this foolish, useless pining.

“You've sown seeds beneath my skin, Dream.”

Techno clenched his fist and took in a deep breath.

“If they were from any other being, they wouldn't have ever grown, I'm certain. Wouldn't even have a chance to sprout. But you, Dream. You, oh you. Where can I even begin? You poke and prod and push till the dirt crumbled loose. Your laughter — sunshine stumbling from nectar-coated lips — warmed what was meant to be corpse-cold. All the icebergs within me thawed so easily; lakes suddenly filling with water fresher than falls from mountaintops.

“Are you proud of the mess you’ve left of me? Of the death you’ve caused? You may not be a mass murderer. May not be a devotee of a God of Carnage, but, Dream, oh, Dream.”

A chuckle. One that could easily belong to a man trapped and locked and desperate.

“You’ve killed me, Dream. And in the most ironic way possible. Breathed life into me with your stupid, stupid wheeze. Sparked a fire within me with your jovial jokes and teasing. Gave me a reason to laugh and chuckle again. You’ve given me so much life, Dream. So much that I no longer recognise myself. No longer feel as if this is my own skin. Did you know, Dream, that you could kill a man so thoroughly, yet still leave him breathing?

“I utter, mutter, mumble your name like a prayer, like a chant. And if you asked me to, I’ll scream it. Atop of my lungs from mountains and buildings and the sky.”

Techno stopped in front of a window. The rising sun reflected in his eyes. Tints of stunning pinks and reds spilled onto the world before him. For a moment, he saw Dream in there. In the beauty, in the peace. In the welcoming warmth of a new day. A new chance to forget all that came before.

“You make me feel like I’m more than a killing machine, Dream. You make me feel like-”

Twittering of birds chimed in the distance.

“Feel like-”

Techno looked at his hands, painted in the light of the sun.

“Like I deserve this.”

A defeated laugh tripped and fell off of his tongue — fell like how Technoblade had fallen for Dream.

“I am the Icarus of this story.”

His whisper went unheard in the symphony of a new morning, a new beginning.

Technoblade surrendered. He let the waves and tides of love take him, pull him, drown him.

But he’d rather die than confess.

He refused to crumble at Dream’s feet, to lay himself bare of anything and everything.

He saw it happen to another man. And he saw how Dream lied through pitying eyes to return it all. Technoblade refused to be that man. Refused to be someone Dream would be uncertain with.

If he couldn’t have anything else, he’d take Dream’s trust. He’d be to whom Dream would confide to.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written a person in love with another. So. Yeah  
> BTW, this was supposed to be short thing. That got out of hand.
> 
> Also, shoutout to the person who dragged me into this whole mess! You know who you are. : )


End file.
